


In the Weeds

by VioletBlue



Series: Looking for Answers [1]
Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blow Jobs, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dubious Consent, Everyone is a good friend to everyone else, Except Luke Maybank, Explicit Sexual Content, Exploitation, F/M, Friendship, He sucks, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Internalized Homophobia, Luke Maybank's A+ Parenting, M/M, Marijuana, Oral Sex, Platonic Relationships, Poverty, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Work, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Whump, it's not entirely as dark as it sounds but it is v dark so proceed with caution, the whole gang needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletBlue/pseuds/VioletBlue
Summary: JJ does what he has to to survive. Kie tries to survive watching him do that.
Relationships: JJ & John B. Routledge, JJ & Kiara & Pope & John B. Routledge, JJ & Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ & Pope (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ/Topper (Outer Banks), Kiara & Pope (Outer Banks), Sarah Cameron/John B. Routledge
Series: Looking for Answers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905091
Comments: 55
Kudos: 176





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s just til school is back in session, then I can get lunch there and it won’t be that bad.”

“What about food stamps?” grilled Kie. She was in the passenger seat of the van, glaring at JJ with eyes that were filled half with rage, half with tears. Pope and John B. were in the backseat, pointedly looking out the window as if the most interesting show in the world were right outside the vehicle, anywhere but here. JJ stared straight ahead at the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel and his expression stony.

“My dad won’t apply, and I can’t as long as he still has guardianship. I checked.”

“So get emancipated.”

“That’s hilarious you think I can afford legal fees and court dates and shit. I can’t afford yogurt. Also my dad would literally kill me. I just gotta wait it out. One year, seven months.”

Kie looked at the hard set of JJ’s mouth and decided to abandon that line of questioning. 

“You could get another job. A real job.”

“What so mowing lawns, boat maintenance, dish washing and line cook isn’t enough?” JJ shot back. His voice was starting to get dangerously monotone - a sign to those who knew him that he was shutting down. In his better moments, JJ was emotive and goofy and his voice was full of life and warmth. When he was struggling, his voice was cold and wooden, laced with sarcasm sharp enough to draw blood. “Any money my dad knows about, he takes most of. This is honestly the best case scenario. I don’t understand why you’re being such a bitch about it.”

“Hey, don’t call her that,” John B. called from the backseat at the same time Pope gave an indignant huff, glaring at JJ. 

“Sorry,” JJ muttered, sounding decidedly not sorry. He wrenched the car into park with a lot more force than necessary as he pulled into the Chateau. “But it’s just going down on some MILFs, dude, it’s not like I’m full gigolo over here. And also if your dad hadn’t started putting fucking locks on his dumpsters, I’d be fine.”

He jumped out of the van without making eye contact with anyone. 

“I’m going on a run,” he announced, dodging Kie’s attempt at a hug as she rounded the side of the van and jogging off into the woods with his head down. 

Kiara burst into tears.

John B. moved to wrap his arms around her, but she pushed him away, eyes blazing. 

“How can you be okay with this?” she demanded. “It’s illegal, exploitative, and fucking disgusting.”

“I’m not okay with it,” John B. said, looking both slightly hurt and slightly angry. “I think Rose Cameron and all the other bored rich housewives are monsters. I just think attacking the victim is maybe not the best approach.”

“I wasn’t attacking him, I was just… helping him think through his options.” 

“I think he probably already thought through his options several times before deciding to go down on Kook moms for money,” Pope volunteered, leaning against the van. His voice was tired. 

“So you’re mad at me too?” Kie whirled around. “I’m sorry that I’m protective over our friend, who is definitely a vulnerable young person, who is definitely being exploited by those Kooks, who definitely need to all go to jail, and you all are just standing here!”

“I wish we could just lock them away,” John B. said, taking her hands in his and craning to catch her eyes as she stared sullenly at the ground. “But we really, really, can’t let the cops know about this. At worst, JJ could be tried as an adult and get solicitation on his permanent record. At best, they stick him in foster care or a group home on the mainland, and we never see him again. Trust me, that is not what he wants.”

“They’re not going to try him as an adult. He’s sixteen, he’s a child,” Kie scoffed, but she saw the pain and bitterness in John B’s eyes. Getting a bunch of Pogues to trust the police was not going to happen. And, probably with good reason. He was right that no matter what, once the state had no option to keep turning a blind eye, there was no way JJ would be able to stay on the Outer Banks.

“Can we at least wait to talk about this until JJ gets back? I don’t wanna discuss his personal life behind his back.” There was a hint of judgement in John B’s level tone that made Kie feel like a horrible person.

“Let’s go inside,” Kie muttered. She felt like throwing up and her head was pounding. She needed a beer and a punching bag, and she at least knew where to get the former.

It was a tense afternoon, Kie starting at every noise in the bushes that could be their friend returning. She had several more points to make, and they kept building up in her head without an outlet, creating one of the worst headaches she’d ever had. After a few hours, Pope left to go help his dad with a shipment. Kie gave him a ride home just for something to do, her knee jiggling so hard she was making the car keys rattle. She couldn’t get the image of JJ’s blank, angry face out of her head, or how small and defeated John B had looked back at the Chateau, his head resting on his curled-up knees as he waited for his friend to come home. 

“Thanks,” grunted Pope as they pulled up outside his house. 

“What do you think?” she asked. She’d promised to drop it until she could talk to JJ, but she needed to hear Pope’s input. 

“I think,” he said, in a throaty voice that betrayed more emotion than his carefully neutral expression did, “that I’m really, really glad I’ll never have to make the same kind of choices that JJ does.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.” She was crying, she noticed, and then Pope was hugging her, with the solid, steady warmth that only he could bring. She squeezed him back, and then he let go and grabbed his backpack out of the back and waved at her. She waved back, before clenching her hand into a fist and punching the steering wheel.

John B. was waiting on the porch when she got home. She sat next to him and leaned her head against his shoulders while he rubbed her arm. 

“I know you’re just trying to help,” he said. “And trust me, I don’t want to let him do this either. But look, there are two ways that desperate people make money on the Cut. We talked about helping out Barry with moving his stuff, but JJ was really adamant that he didn’t want to do anything with hard drugs. Doesn’t want other people ruining their lives the way his dad did. So to him, sex work is the lesser of two evils.”

“Hmmm.” Kie stared out at the mess of weedy forest in front of her, feeling so, so overwhelmed.

“Did I ever tell you how we met?” John B. asked. She turned to face him, and his eyes were aglow with some distant memory. 

“No,” she said softly. 

“We met in third grade, when we were both sent out in the hallway on Mother’s Day to do some dumb worksheet while everyone else made cards. We both had really awkward teachers who didn’t know what to do with kids without moms. I was about to cry, because my teacher was being such a jackass for making me feel like a loser for not having a mom, and JJ noticed even though I was usually really good at hiding when I was upset. He folded my math worksheet into a paper airplane and while I was chasing it, he stole my juice box out of my backpack. Then he gave me a hug. We haven’t gone a day without seeing each other since.”

Kie wrapped both her arms around John B, feeling him shake with the emotion that only comes from loving someone you can’t help. 

It was then that she made her decision, her shirt collar getting wet with John B’s silent tears. No matter what, she was going to get John B and JJ enough money that they didn’t need to make decisions like this any more.

After John B. had left to take a shower, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number she still knew by heart, even though she had often wished she could forget it. 

“Hey, it’s me. I know…. Yeah, I know…. I am sorry… look, Sarah, I just really need your help.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Substance abuse/ dependency and internalized homophobia (as well as the usual warnings)

JJ needed weed. Now. Actually like an hour ago. Back when he’d told his friends his very smart plan for surviving another summer, and Kiara had decided to go full self-righteous social worker on his ass.

It wasn’t that bad. JJ had dated a lot of girls, and he knew he was pretty good at that particular part of making women happy. And if he’d given tourons oral for free, what was so wrong with giving it to the Real Housewives of OBX for a little bit of their husband’s hard-earned cash?

Most of them were hot, anyway. And smelled good. And he finally had the money to buy good shit: like Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese. And, he could afford soap and toilet paper. And, he wasn’t in debt to a single weed dealer, which was about the biggest peace of mind that kids from the Cut could get.

It truly wasn’t a bad gig. It beat scrubbing food he couldn’t afford off of Kook’s dirty dishes at the hotel. Or cutting the perfectly green lawns of houses he was seen as too dirty to step foot in. He seriously couldn’t do either of those jobs without being high off his ass or he would scream. Luckily nobody ever paid him enough attention to notice his glassy eyes. 

Speaking of being high off his ass, he needed that. Now. He needed to dull the pain of Kie’s stupid tearful face when she’d realized just how grimy the friend she slummed with actually was. 

Unfortunately, visiting his current dealer brought him dangerously close to Kook territory. Something he always avoided when he could, but especially now. 

Fuck it. He wasn’t going to be able to avoid the preppy pricks forever.

JJ’s dealer Blaze (no way that was his actual name) lived in a tiny bungalow conveniently located right on the edge of the Cut where the houses started getting nicer and the cops didn’t show up as often. That way he had access to both the kids blowing their parents’ money and the kids trying to forget their parents’ lack of money.

There were voices coming within the living room when JJ hopped up on the porch, so he sat on the worn chair on the rickety deck and tried to look inconspicuous. All he had to do was get in, get out, get high, and get Kiara to stop looking at him like Little Orphan Annie. 

The voices got louder and he heard someone calling out a goodbye.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Was the universe being fucking serious right now? What cosmic force had JJ pissed off so badly that the person emerging from the battered front door with a fancy Patagonia backpack filled with something illicit was none other than Topper Thornton himself?

JJ ducked his head and grabbed the top of his cap so that his face was almost touching his knees. Maybe if Topper just kept walking, if he made it to his stupid little Saab and didn’t look back…

“It’s you,” Topper said. 

Honestly, fuck whatever deity pulled the strings on JJ’s life.

JJ raised his head slowly, trying to look nonchalant. 

“What’s up, cupcake. You’re pretty far from home.”

“So are you.”

It was true. They were on no man’s land, the fuzzy space where Kook and Pogue territory collided and nobody started shit because nobody wanted Blaze to get shut down.

“Hey man,” Topper leaned against the railing, which creaked ominously, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Hey they’re saying some things about you, man. Saying you get up to some shit in our pool houses. Saying you can be convinced to do just about anything.” 

Topper’s leer was the worst thing JJ had ever seen, and he’d once come home to his dad lying a two-day-old pile of his own sick. That smirking face made him feel the exact same degree of disgust.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” JJ said, forcing his voice into steadiness. “I know your first language is horseshit, but you’d think all those private tutors would have helped you at least pretend to not be a total dumbass.”

“So you’re gonna deny it,” Topper asked, his eyes glinting. “I already know man. Everyone else, it’s just a rumor. But I know. I saw you coming out of Cameron’s tool shed with little Miss Rose. She sure looked happy.”

Fuck, this was not good. JJ knew they should have staggered their exits by at least five minutes, but Rose had the money and Rose had called the shots.

“You’re a fucking whore. That’s so gross, dude.”

“Your mom didn’t think it was gross when she came screaming my name,” JJ’s mouth said before his brain could stop it. Actually, Mrs. Thornton had come after slapping JJ as hard as she could and pulling his hair, but Topper didn’t need to know that. 

Well, so much for the element of mystery. He’d just admitted to being an underage prostitute to the worst person on the OBX. 

Topper’s look of shock was almost worth it… what, had he thought his own mother had morals that the others didn’t? Nah, she was just as entitled and shitty as the entire pearl-wearing, church-on-Sundays, Vicodin-on-Saturdays crew.

But then the curled-lip mask settled back over his features. 

“I have a deal you might be interested in, Maybank,” Topper said, his voice low. But there was something else too… JJ, who by necessity had gotten very, very, good at reading the body language of aggressive men, noticed there was a little off about Topper right now. There was more sweat than the day necessarily warranted gathering on his upper lip, and he kept glancing at the windows of the house behind them. He had also kept his tone scarcely above a whisper this entire conversation, when normally he was all booming voice and loud, off-color comments.

“I have a proposition that you’re going to find very, very hard to refuse.” He slung his backpack around and pulled out a Moleskine notebook and began writing in it… a figure. He was making an offer.

“I don’t do men,” JJ said automatically, stiffening away from the other boy. And he’d been offered the opportunity, too… men who stared at him while he washed their boats, whose hands grazed his waist when he served them drinks. Who had approached him with veiled comments after their gal pals had told them which one of the scrawny Cut kids was giving oral for money. He’d thought about it, he wasn’t going to lie… the promise of extra cash setting off a tantalizing display in his head (grapefruits. Listerine. New shirt for school. Buying John B. that Gordon Lightfoot album his dad used to play him.) but he had decided that he couldn’t do it. “I’m straight.”

“Yeah, me too, me too, obviously,” Topper said way too quickly and with a slight splutter. “But I’m just looking for, you know, a new experience. To like, be more cultured before I go to the mainland.” His face was well and truly red now, and he kept looking around every two seconds even though they were clearly alone.

“No.” JJ said. 

“It’s not… just look at the paper.” Topper jabbed the ripped sheet at JJ, his hands shaking slightly.

JJ didn’t want to, but his eyes read automatically the scrawled print. 

Holy shit. For two reasons. One, that was a LOT of money, and two - 

“You want to suck MY dick?” asked JJ incredulously, not bothering to keep his voice down. 

“Shut the fuck up man,” Topper hissed. “If you tell anyone, I’ll tell the whole boat club and the cops what I saw at the Camerons. Or I can tell them it’s just a stupid rumor and nobody would pay to sit on your ugly face.” He took a deep, shaky breath. 

“So it’s your choice. Let me know by tomorrow.” He dropped the paper at JJ’s feet then basically sprinted to his car, revving the motor as he sped away, narrowly missing a mailbox at the corner.

JJ picked up the paper, his head buzzing. Did that really just happen?

So it looked like his options were receiving a life-changing amount of money and a blow-job from none other than Topper fucking Thornton, or getting outed as a sex worker to every teenager on the island and the police.

The OBX never stopped surprising you. Well, this should be a fun dilemma to bring home to Kie.

“Yo, Blaze,” he yelled, barging in the front door. “I’m gonna need the strongest shit you have. Right. The fuck. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for the kudos and comments. Comment where you want me to go with this next. The only thing I like more than a sandy-haired boy from the Cut is a prompt I can be creative with :)
> 
> Also torn between having this be a platonic fic and having it be JJ/Kiara. Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

Kie woke up before anyone else. The slanting morning light caught the fuzzy edges of the ratty afghan that she always used when she slept over at the Chateau. Even though she often pretended to bitch and moan about early mornings along with the boys, the truth was she loved those first few gilded hours of a late summer coastal morning, when everything was still and serene and nothing had been fucked up yet.

She wrapped the afghan around her shoulders and tiptoed across the house, her feet expertly picking their way across the boards that she knew wouldn’t squeak. Not that much could wake anyone else in this house right now. When JJ had finally returned last night, he’d been too baked to discuss his situation with any sincerity and, after a look with John B, Kiara agreed not to push it. Instead they’d watched old movies and drank light beers, their previous emotional displays sinking back under the surface as they played out their normal, familiar rhythms. JJ was a little more jumpy than usual, and there was a slight stiltedness to his conversations with Kiara, but John B. was extra goofy to cover the awkwardness. By the end of the night both of the boys passed out stone drunk and giddily laughing, JJ giving her such a sweet, unguarded smile as he settled into his usual spot on the coach that Kiara almost felt like crying again. But she was over that. Tears were yesterday’s response, but today was all about action.

She snuck by John B’s room, grabbed a banana from the kitchen, making a mental note to refill John B’s fruit bowl with rejects nabbed from the Wreck kitchen, and softly crept toward the front door. She stopped and hesitated by the couch, watching as JJ’s chest rose and fell and evenly. 

He was lying on his back, shirtless, with the sheet having almost completely fallen off the couch. Her eyes scanned his torso automatically, looking for damages, the ways the Pogues had been doing for years. JJ never wanted to talk about or acknowledge the cuts and bruises that appeared and faded and reappeared on his body, but it was still helpful for his friends to silently inventory his condition. That way they could know whether or not to casually leave a bottle of ibuprofen on the table, or add an extra cushion to his seat on the boat, or if they should in absolutely no circumstances let him drive. Kie knew JJ well enough to know that his level of recklessness and impulsiveness was directly connected to the level of physical pain he was in.

Today he looked okay. He must not have gone home for a while. His skin was even and tan, with no splotches of dark pink or faded brown. The only visible marks were the three small, shiny scars on his ribs, when his dad had used a belt buckle last fall. And although she couldn’t see it now, there was a short, wide scar on his chest from when his dad was wearing a ring. And his knee had a smooth purplish stripe from when he’d fallen on some junk in the backyard, running away. They all saw a lot of each other’s skin, considering they were all water rats who wore swimsuits more often than jeans. But somewhere along the line, Kie realized she had JJ’s body memorized. And she knew some marks would never fade.

She turned to keep creeping toward the door, ignoring the familiar prickling in her chest when she caught sight of JJ’s face… looking so young with his face relaxed into sleep, his hair mussed up against the pillow and his mouth slightly agape.

She closed the door without a sound, hurrying to the grasses under the tree where she stored her bike. 

It didn’t take long to get to the spot, the little patch of trees by a bend in the water that she used to associate with stolen bottles of lemonade and kicked-off shoes and swapping jewelry, talking about boys and world issues and celebrity crushes and parents and futures. Now she mostly associates it with the dark, bitter, scummy feeling of watching the eyes of someone you once loved go cold and hard when they see you. 

Sarah was waiting. 

“I didn’t know if you would actually show up,” Kie said instead of hello. Not the best start, but she couldn’t always control what came out of her mouth when she saw the stuck-up Kook princess who used to be her best friend. 

“Hi to you too,” Sarah snapped. “Now what’s so important, Topper and I are going boating in fifteen minutes.”

There was no use beating around the bush. 

“It’s about the gold,” Kie said. 

Sarah’s jaw dropped, and suddenly she was an inch from Kiara’s face, grabbing her arm with a surprisingly brutal grip. 

“You promised never to tell,” Sarah hissed. “That was a secret. You’re the only person I’ve ever told. Not even Rafe.”

“Good, Rafe is an asshole,” Kie interrupted. “And I didn’t tell. I still am not gonna tell! That’s why I came to you.”

Sarah let go of Kie’s arm and took a step back. She sat down, heavily, on the little grassy knob where two girls had once exchanged their darkest secrets. Including this one. 

“What my dad did… he would go to jail,” Sarah said a little wildly, looking up at Kiara with such a trapped expression that Kie was unexpectedly reminded of JJ. The likeness made her feel suddenly sick.

“I know,” Kiara began, even though she didn’t know, not really. Her parents drove her up the wall, but she knew deep down that they were good people trying their best. Mr. Cameron… was absolutely not a good person trying best. 

“I know that you feel guilty over what happened with your dad and Ms. Crain,” she began her speech again, trying to maintain eye contact with Sarah, who was crying in earnest now. Kie felt like such an asshole right now, but this was more important than either of their feelings. “And I swore I would never, ever tell what is in the basement of Tanneyhill. But you also told me years ago that you wanted to make it right, when you got older. You wanted to give that gold to someone who actually needed it, not just your dad who’s sitting on more blood money than he could ever spend in his lifetime.”

That was maybe a little harsh, but Sarah didn’t argue, just bent her head over her folded knees and picked at her artfully frayed designer jeans.

“I know… I know a way to make it right. Without involving the police, or getting your dad into trouble at all. I know some people who really need that gold. All we have to do is get it to them, and boom, Cameron family karma restored. Nobody has to know.”

Sarah looked up, her eyelashes wet with tears but her gaze still fierce as she stared at her ex-best friend. 

“Okay one, who is it that needs this money,” she asked, “and two, how do you suggest sneaking my dad’s stolen fortune out from under him?”

Kiara hadn’t expected Sarah to get to this part of the conversation so quickly. She’d expected at least a couple weeks of needling and cajoling and maybe even a little threatening. She was almost disappointed she couldn’t use any of the cutting lines she’d come up with on the way here. The truth is she had no idea how much to trust Sarah. Yes, she was petty and backstabbing, but she had also always seemed to genuinely care about doing the right thing when it came to the big issues. But still…Kooks were Kooks. Even the social justice warrior ones. 

“Orphans. It’s for orphans. Poor, starving orphans. Ya know, like you see on TV,” Kie babbled. 

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. 

“And in terms of how… well, that’s where we need to sit down together and figure this out.”

Sarah stared out over the water, the breeze ruffling her flat-ironed coppery hair. 

“You really think he won’t get in trouble?” Sarah asked at last, her voice small. She sounded so much the worried little girl that Kiara had spent so long comforting all those years ago.  
“Not if we’re careful,” Kiara said softly. “And I promise these… um, starving orphans… really need the money.”

Sarah turned to stare at Kiara, studying her. Kie held still under the scrutiny. This was uncomfortable as hell, but she could do it for her boys. She could do it for JJ. 

“I trust you,” Sarah said at last, and damn if those three words in that familiar voice didn’t unleash a weirdly powerful swoop of joy in Kie’s heart. “That gold and… her face… have been haunting my nightmares for five years. I want it out of my house.”

“Hell yeah,” Kie said, grinning at her maybe not-so-ex best friend. “I knew I hung out with you for a reason.” 

“Shut up,” muttered Sarah, but she was grinning too. “Shit, I’m late for meeting Topper.” 

She grabbed her phone and stood up, then paused. 

“I’m, um, gonna unblock you on Facebook.”

“Okay.”

“And add you on Snap and Insta again.”

“Okay.” 

“And text you my new number.”

“That sounds good.”

“And also I’m sorry. You were always a good friend. A lot of people would have freaked out when I told them what life was really like at Tanneyhill, and ya know, the stuff with my dad. But thanks for just, never being irrational and staying calm. I wish I could be like that.”

“I am always very, very mature and rational,” Kie said as she also got up to leave. She turned and gave Sarah an innocent grin, “Also it was me that called the cops on your birthday.” 

“Oh my god, you bitch,” Sarah yelled as Kie ran away as fast as she could toward her bike, but she was laughing. And Kiara was laughing too as she peddled away, feeling better than she had in a long time. 

Hold on, JJ. Just hold on, she thought as the wind whipped her hair. Your life is about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I really tried to make JJ and Kiara platonic but they have so much chemistry that just can't? stay? apart? Officially a Jiara fic. 
> 
> <3 Comments appreciated! Feel free to make suggestions for things you'd like to see.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a very explicit scene of dubious consent in the context of underage prostitution. Please skip if this upsets you.

“Dude, where’s Kie,” JJ called out as soon as John B. had dragged his lazy ass out of bed. It was almost 10:30, which was admittedly a pretty average wake-up time by Pogue summer standards. But JJ had been up for two hours already, jittery after having found Kiara’s bed empty and with the biggest and most fucked-up moral dilemma of his young life ahead of him today. 

“Fuck if I know, dude,” John B. said, his voice still thick and raspy with sleep. “I thought you were still pissed at her.”

“I’m not pissed at her, I just needed some time to cool off. We were chill last night and I wanted to talk to her this morning.” He’d had some kind of vision of drinking coffee on the porch, her telling him that she was sorry she overreacted and this plan was actually pretty smart and even if he let Topper suck his dick he wasn’t a bad person and everything was gonna be okay. There were a few problems with this fantasy; one, there wasn’t any coffee in the house and two, Kiara was never that sickly sweet. She always kept him in line. And honestly, he appreciated that. 

“Hey, do you think this moldy bread is okay?” John B. asked, staring skeptically at the greenish heal of a loaf he’d bought on discount last week. 

“Mold’s natural,” JJ deadpanned, but he felt sick watching John B. rifle through the kitchen looking for something edible. Growing up, JJ had always been a little resentful of his friends who had packed lunches and afterschool snacks. John B. was always one of those kids. But when Big John disappeared at sea last year, his son was forced into the same jungle of self-reliance and gnawing hunger that JJ had always lived in. And it didn’t feel good that JJ finally had someone else in his boat. It just felt beyond shitty to watch John B. go through the same motions that were so achingly familiar to him… checking the bottom of containers and the back of refrigerators, sure that there was some crumb that he’d missed.

“Why is there no fucking food in this house?” John B. was muttering under his breath. He wasn’t expecting an answer. But JJ had answers. Because John B. made minimum wage. Because JJ slept over most nights and often ate John B’s food because even though he tried to skip breakfast he was usually too dizzy to make it to work without a piece of bread or a stale pizza slice. Because this world fucking sucked, and JJ was being too much of a pussy to do anything about it. 

“I’ll get groceries on my way home, bro, don’t worry about it,” JJ said, jumping up off the couch. This was it. He was making the decision and he was not letting himself back out. If some closeted rich kid wanted to get his experimentation phase over with before heading off to college and marrying a senator’s daughter, then who was JJ to argue. He was a poor kid with no future and no goals beyond trying to survive living on the same planet as his father. But he did have friends, and he damn sure was going to do everything in his power to help them out.

“Nah man, that’s not what I meant, it’s fine! I get paid next week!” John B. said hurriedly. “We’ll just get Kie to bring more leftovers from the Wreck.”

“It’s no worries man, I can get some stuff. What do you want? Steak? Shrimp? What about those fancy-ass little pie things that Kie had at her birthday party?”

“JJ,” John B. said in a often-used tone that clearly implied 'I don’t know what the hell you’re planning but it can’t be good and it’s probably illegal so just stop it.' “I’ve told you, you never have to buy me shit to stay here. I’m totally fine.”

“Sure you are, big guy,” JJ said pinching John B.’s cheek and dodging his retaliatory jab to the ribs. “Now one quick thing, I need to see your dad’s bathroom.”

“What the actual fuck?”

“Won’t take a moment,” JJ trilled in a falsely high voice as he swung around the corner and side-stepped into the dusty room. He glanced at himself in the spotty mirror before swinging open the medicine cabinet. Benadryl, a crusty old bottle of children’s Tylenol, a bottle of generic painkillers (most of which JJ had taken himself when he showed up to the Chateau with a bruised rib or a shiner over the years). And there it was. A square white bottle with blue print, clearly labeled. 

“Thanks Big John, you dirty old bastard,” JJ whispered to the heavens. Then he pocketed the bottle and headed towards the door, just as John B. intercepted him. 

“Allergy meds. My hay fever is really acting up, you know my delicate condition,” JJ said before John B. could even open his mouth. “See you tonight! With steak!”

He ducked under John B.’s arm and let the screen door slam behind him.

A couple of surreal hours later, JJ was sitting on the empty floor of an abandoned half-built luxury condo, littered with beer cans and Sharpie graffiti from other squatters. Topper was meeting him in fifteen minutes. He looked down at the Facebook message again, making sure he wrote the right time and place. Then he looked at the Safari tab, which was most definitely on private mode and filled with articles he really didn’t want to show up in his search history. The good news is he now knew the correct dosage of the Viagra in his jacket pocket in case he needed it, and lots of tips and tricks for getting it up under pressure.

JJ had never fantasized about someone else while having sex. When he was eating out the Kook women, he mostly just focused on his technique and their reactions. If he did get turned on, he tried to ignore it and waited til he was home to jerk off. Those women hadn’t cared what his dick was doing, as long as they came on his tongue. But today was gonna be a different story. And Topper Thornton was definitely not his type.

His anxiety spiral was interrupted by the sound of a car motor coming down the road. 

JJ was suddenly seized by fear as he watched the swanky sports car pull into the driveway. What if this had been a trick, and Topper and all his Kook friends were just coming to kick JJ’s ass? Goddammit, they were so far from anyone, nobody would hear a thing…

But it was only Topper who got out of the car, swivelling around to look in all directions before starting towards the busted door. His expression was so fucking guilty that JJ almost laughed. Man, this kid would not last five minutes if he actually had to sneak around anywhere in his privileged little life. He was way too used to strutting. 

“You in here, Maybank?” Topper stage-whispered from the staircase. 

“Yep,” JJ replied woodenly. 

Topper ascended slowly, looking around. 

“Does the owner of this place know it’s turned into such a shithole?”

“The owner gave up building it during the recession,” said JJ. “Where’s the money?”

Topper raised his eyebrows and pulled out a manila folder and set it on the floor. 

“1,000 in cash. It’s all there.” 

Jesus Christ. That was more money than probably any Maybank had held in cash at once since the dawn of time. Granted, that wasn’t saying much. And to Topper, this was chump change.

“Let’s get this over with,” JJ said, unbuckling his pants. 

“Oh god,” Topper said. His face was red and his mouth was hanging open as he watched JJ take off his belt. “Oh my god.”

The most popular little prince of the Outer Banks was practically salivating as he watched JJ pull out his dick. This was the weirdest day of JJ’s very weird life.

“Do you want me to… should I lie down?” JJ asked, his voice emotionless. He assumed that Topper wasn’t planning on getting on his knees for a Pogue. 

“Um, yeah,” Topper said. “Yeah, that’d be good.” 

JJ kicked aside his pants, the unfinished flooring scratching on his bare ass. Topper loomed over him, his eyes blown wide with lust and JJ really couldn’t look at that sight, so he folded his arm over his eyes.

“Go ahead,” he muttered. He stilled his flinch as best he could when Topper’s fingers touched his torso, pushing his shirt up to reveal his abs and tracing each contour. He could hear the other boy’s heavy breathing.

Okay, just imagine something else. Jessica Alba, Baywatch, the hot tourons who sunbathe on the beach. 

Dark wavy hair. A beaded necklace against sweaty golden brown skin. Striped bikini, strong legs, her smile. 

A moan of pleasure rose up within him. There was the sensation of a condom being rolled over his dick, then there was a tongue there, licking stripes up and down. 

Porn, c’mon, imagine porn…

But instead his brain supplied another image… 

Her, up against the boat, her head thrown back in laughter, her arms clinging to him. In the water, the splashing that had turned into tussling that had turned into the two of them with their faces almost touching, close enough to see the water droplets on her eyelashes, to see her bite her bottom lip.

In real life, that moment had ended when Pope called something stupid and she’d shrieked, swimming away. But now, with the wet pressure of someone’s mouth on him, with the fingers reaching up his shirt to flick his nipples, his imagination took that scene in another direction… untying her bikini string with one hand, leaning in close, feeling the weight of her on him, her hands all over him, her legs wrapping around him…

“Shit,” JJ yelled as his orgasm burst forth. He rode the waves of fuzzy, pulsing pleasure. When he could breathe again, he opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his forearms. Topper was staring at him with a fevered intensity, jerking himself off as his eyes raked JJ’s sweaty body. When they made eye contact he made an odd choking sound and closed his eyes as he climaxed. 

“Okay that,” JJ said as he shakily sat up, pushing down his shirt and leaning over to grab his pants, “was not your first blow job. Who was it? Kelce? Rafe?”

“Shut your mouth, Pogue,” Topper said, his voice still slightly shaky. “I don’t pay you to ask questions about my personal life.”  
“Right, you just pay me to lie here and look pretty,” JJ said with his sweetest grin, feeling some satisfaction when Topper blushed.

Topper stood up and grabbed his bag without making eye contact. 

“I’ll, uh, call you if I need you again, alright Pogue?”

JJ nodded shortly. He hadn’t even considered that Topper might want to see him again, but that honestly hadn’t been that bad. And it paid five times as well as the Kook ladies.

He waited til the hum of Topper’s car had completely faded before opening the envelope and fingering each crisp $100 bill. Food, gas for the VW, maybe even a book for Pope or a new necklace for Kie…

Kie...

Okay, he had some things to think about. Because somehow, allowing a closeted rich kid to suck him off for money was NOT the most sexually confusing experience of the day. 

As he got back on his bike and headed back to the Cut, he had two main thoughts on his mind. One was the big surprise he was gonna plan for his friends now that he had the cash in his hands. And the other was that he was really, really glad Kiara Carerra could not read minds.


	5. Chapter 5

Kie kicked open the door of the Chateau before catching it with her hip, then muscling in with hands full of paper bags. Bruised fruit, cold quesadillas, some old cheese with the hard bits cut off, just the usual fare that she wheedled her Dad into letting her take to John B. instead of throwing away. The amount of food waste at the Wreck was insane anyway… and as much as she hated that JJ dumpster dived, she was even madder at her dad for putting a lock on the lid to keep away “bums.” As if that was actually a solution to food insecurity and not social change… but whatever. She was tired of fighting that losing battle. At least her mom always shrugged and looked sympathetic, but her dad just talked about how moochers needed more hard work. As if JJ wasn’t one of the hardest working people she knew, supporting himself and his useless father at sixteen.

She stuck the food in the fridge, hoping it was enough to last the boys the week and also knowing that it wouldn’t be. 

The place was empty. John B. was working a shift cleaning a yacht, Pope was helping his dad, and JJ should be free, although honestly who knows where he was right now. She pulled out her phone and saw a text from JJ to the group message: 'Dinner tonight at the Chat! 7!! BE THERE' followed by a nonsensical string of emojis. 

What the hell was that boy planning?

She started texting, then paused. Was this a good idea?

She bit her lip then finished the text. 

\- Hell yeah. Can my friend Sarah come?

Almost instantly her phone buzzed. 

\- Who's Sarah? 

\- Sarah Cameron from school. 

\- Idk her but I guess if she brings beer. And cake.

\- Are we celebrating something?

\- Yeah, your good fortune at knowing me, obvi  
\- But also I just want cake

She laughed and threw her phone on the counter. Okay, this was going to be fine. Normal. Her only Kook friend, whom as of yesterday she hated, and her ride-or-die Pogue friends, who hated all Kooks. But when Sarah had texted her asking if she wanted to hang out tonight, Kie had said yes without thinking. And she didn’t regret it. Yet. The Sarah she remembered, once she stripped away the petty bitterness of the last year, was funny and easygoing and idealistic and would probably get along with the guys. She wasn’t really a snob, and she could tell dirty jokes and laugh at stupid things with the best of them. 

No, it wasn’t Sarah that Kie was worried about. It was the Pogues. She texted Sarah the address and to bring beer, trying to ignore the queasiness in her stomach that maybe this actually wasn’t her brightest idea.

Her phone buzzed insistently. It was Pope calling. She sighed. 

“Hi Popito, what’s up?”

“Um, why are you friends with Sarah Cameron all of a sudden? I thought you hated her.”

“We just had a stupid fight. We made up today. I thought it might be nice to reconnect over here.”

“Okayyy,” Pope said, in the same tone as ‘your funeral.’ “Does JJ know she’s a Kook?”

“Um, probably not. But he’ll be cool. Maybe?”

Pope snorted. “I’ll call him and warn him. I mean, she’s always been nice to me when I’m the only Pogue in AP classes. And she slapped her brother in the parking lot once, so that says positive things about her character.”

“Okay, amazing,” Kie exhaled. “You talk to JJ, and I’ll talk to John B.” She heard the sounds of tires crunching the gravel outside. “... who just got here. I’ll seeya in a bit.”

“This is gonna be a shitshow love you bye,” Pope yelled, and then hung up.

She rolled her eyes, but she knew that JJ trusted Pope like nobody else, and if he vouched for Sarah it would dramatically reduce the chances of JJ being a total asshole. Not eliminate, but reduce.

She pulled out her phone again and texted Sarah. 

\- Also maybe bring a cake? Lol

“Hey,” John B. greeted her as he pushed open the door. He looked tired from working all afternoon, his hair was sweaty, and his tan had deepened in the sun, but he still paused to give her a half-hug before making a beeline to the sink and sticking his whole head under it, turning on the tap and gulping down the stream of water. 

“This is why you need to carry a fucking waterbottle,” Kiara remarked, watching him splutter underneath the tap. 

“I always forget,” John B. said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Also Ward Cameron is kind of a hardass. I thought we’d take more breaks.”

“Wait, Ward Cameron? That’s who you were working for today?”

“Yeah, he has that boat My Druthers? It’s literally the size of this house. Well maybe not literally, but it’s fucking massive. The jet ski is so legit, it’s a…” 

“Do you know his daughter Sarah?” Kie interrupted. 

“Oh yeah, Sarah’s actually cool,” John B. said, getting an actual glass from the cupboard this time and filling it up with more water. “She brought me a juice box today. Like I was a little kid. It was kinda sweet and kinda pathetic.” 

“Have you by any chance checked your phone?”

John B. looked at her quizzically and pulled it out of his pocket. He yelped. 

“Sarah’s coming here?! Oh my god, this place is a mess. Oh fuck, I need to like vacuum or something. And take a shower! What time is it?”

Kie tried to keep from giggling. 

“She won’t care. She’s a teenager just like us.”

“Oh god, I think my dirty laundry is just lying in the bathroom…” He charged out of the kitchen with a weird nervous smile on his face. 

Okay, well that was unexpected. Huh. They definitely needed to unpack that later.

Another incoming call from Pope. 

“Hey, we’re on our way. I picked up JJ at the wharf. Did you know this motherfucker bought lobster?”

“Shut up, Pope, you’re gonna ruin the surprise,” she heard JJ’s muffled voice. 

“Okay. Um, everything good?”

“JJ’s gonna play nice with your little Kook friend, if that’s what you’re asking,” Pope said. 

“I’m a nice player,” JJ’s distant voice agreed. He sounded in a really good mood. 

Okay, okay. This might actually all work. 

“See you in a few,” she told Pope, and then turned to start clearing junk out of the living room. She grabbed her backpack and then pulled out a bottle of tequila she’d bribed a college kid to buy for her and placed it square in the middle of the table. One way or another, this was gonna be a memorable evening. 

***  
As far as experiments in cross-class friendships go, the night had not gone poorly. It helped that Pope and Sarah were friendly from their fancy AP classes, and that John B… well whatever was going on with John B. made him laugh loudly at Sarah’s jokes and drink a lot of tequila and orange juice.

JJ had made a slightly sloppy but very delicious feast after buying out apparently an entire grocery store. She had no idea where the money came from, and she didn’t really know what to do with the slightly desperate gleam in JJ’s eye as he surveyed his bounty. 

But things were going well. When Sarah had arrived with a six pack of PBR and a store bought lemon cake, JJ hadn’t said anything rude, just roared “CAKE” and gave her a high-five. 

When John B. had burned the corn, Sarah had made a snarky joke and everybody laughed. 

When Pope had ran to get a book on women in science he had stored somewhere in the Chateau because he thought Sarah might like it, JJ had called them both nerds and thrown potato chips at them, and Sarah had thrown a pickle back at him and JJ had laughed, that throaty chuckle that made Kie feel somehow both safe and a little unsteady.

But then Sarah had been telling a funny story, about going to see a movie, and how her boyfriend Topper had stormed out…

JJ choked on his drink. 

“Wait your boyfriend’s Topper Thornton?” he interrupted. 

“Yeah, he hates this story. So anyway, Topper’s like practically running down the hallway, and…”

Kiara zoned out, watching carefully as JJ’s face formed a small, sardonic smile, his head turned down, staring into his beer. What was up with him?

He stood up abruptly and walked into the kitchen. Nobody else noticed him go, and the other two boys were totally engrossed in Sarah’s story, Pope slapping the table and John B. leaned all the way back in his chair, shaking with laughter. She figured nobody would notice if she slipped away too. 

JJ had his back to her, piling the pots and pans he’d scattered across the kitchen into the sink.

“Never thought I’d see JJ Maybank doing the dishes at a party,” she said, leaning against the counter. He didn’t respond. 

“Good food,” she added. JJ’s arms straightened against the sink, and she could see tension in the cords of his forearms.  
But when he turned around, his face was smiling and unreadable. 

“I keep telling y’all I am the absolute master of shrimp and grits, about time someone appreciates my culinary genius,” he said.

“Hey, thanks for being so cool about Sarah,” Kiara said.

“Yeah,” JJ breathed shortly, not meeting her eyes. “Cool. I’m cool. You should ask her if he’s good in bed.”

“Excuse me?” Kie did not just hear that.

“Topper. Ask her if he’s any good. I’m curious, honestly.”

“JJ, that is so fucking inappropriate, what the hell,” she hissed.

“I just wanna know what he thinks about when he fucks her…”

Kiara slapped him before she knew what she was doing. His cheek snapped back and his eyes closed, his entire body going as tense as a live wire, fists clenched. 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry J,” she started but he shouldered past her, not looking at her at all as he strode back into the dining room. 

She put her hand over her eyes, feeling the tears coat her fingers before she even knew she was crying. JJ was immature, sure, but he’d never been crude and demeaning like that. And she had never, ever hit him. Even when the Pogues were horsing around, they never shoved or slapped at JJ. They knew better. She should have known better. 

But he also knew better than to say those disgusting things about her friend. 

She heard raised voices from the dining room, then a slamming door. She hastily wiped her face as footsteps started approaching the kitchen. 

“Do you want to tell me what the hell just happened in here,” Pope said, looking and sounding for all the world like Heyward, “that made JJ just say he was going home? Like, home to Luke home?”

And Kiara sunk down on the floor and started crying without caring who could see, and when Sarah crawled up next to her she sunk her face in her friend’s arms and wept until her vision blurred. The only thing in her line of sight was the crusted pot of shrimp and grits, the last remnant of JJ’s attempt at making everything better. She closed her eyes and sunk back into Sarah’s arms. 

Please, please, please, let him be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Okay that was bleak. It will get a little bleaker. And then it will get better I promise. 
> 
> What are you guys thinking? Any feedback/suggestions? John B has a crush, where do you think it should go? Open to anything!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Graphic depiction of child abuse. Reference to underage sex work and exploitation.
> 
> This is probably the darkest chapter in the series. Please read with your own well-being prioritized.

JJ leaned back against the railing of the pier, the slap of the water coming into shore the only sound. He was too exhausted to keep his eyes open but too wired to relax. The alcohol was slowly leaving his system, leaving in its place an echoing hollowness worse than the anger had been. 

He knew this place was pretty safe - whoever owned it never used it and it was secluded enough that only a few boats ever passed by. JJ used to sleep here sometimes, when he ran away from Luke’s. That was back when Big John was still around, before the Chateau had become his default living space. Big John usually let JJ crash, but it was awkward… the breakfast small talk, the not-so-subtle questions. JJ knew Big John would never call the cops or DCS, but the cranky old man was still way out of his depth in terms of parenting when JJ showed up at his doorstep with a cracked rib and a lie. He’d usually just give JJ an uncomfortable attempt at a smile or an awkward hair ruffle, and then disappear into his room. 

But since it’s just been John B, JJ’s stayed over most nights. It was a situation that worked for both of them - John B. didn’t want to be alone, and JJ didn’t want to be at home. John B. didn’t ask any hard questions, just put out an ice pack and at least tried to hide his pity, even if he didn’t always do it as well as he thought he did.

JJ stared at the moonlight glinting on the waves. He could see now that the party had been a stupid idea. It obviously wasn’t smart to blow his cash all at once, but he’d just wanted to do something nice for his friends. To make up for all the times they’d hidden money in his bag without telling him, or said they weren’t hungry and given him their leftovers, or rubbed the tension out of his hunched shoulders and then pretended not to notice him crying simply because it felt so good to be touched with kindness. 

He should have taken the money and done something else with it… investments or some shit, whatever people with money do when they have money. Or just given it to his dad, that might have bought him a month or so without being bothered. Luke only paid attention to JJ when he needed money, and his attention was decidedly unpleasant.

He’d been bluffing when he told Pope where he was going. He doesn’t know why he said it… maybe he’d wanted to see the look of shock on Pope’s face. Part of him did want to get this one pair of shorts that he knew were in the top drawer of his bedroom dresser, and he should probably give his dad his paycheck from the hotel soon before Luke came looking for it. But he didn’t want to see Luke. Not tonight. Not with the creepy crawly sensation of Topper’s hands still on his torso, and his cheek still stinging with Kie’s slap. 

How would Kie ever forgive him? He didn’t know why he reacted that way. Once Sarah had said Topper’s name, JJ just felt like throwing up and his entire brain kind of dissolved into anxiety soup. He felt weirdly guilty… Did this mean he’d helped Topper cheat? Or did it not count if he didn’t know there was a girlfriend and he was getting paid? Did Sarah deserve to know? And why the fuck did Topper have a girlfriend if he was so sexually repressed he felt the need to blackmail other teenage boys into letting him suck their dicks?

He heard the thrum of a bass coming from somewhere off the water. A party boat. He pulled his bag farther into the shadows and held still. They wouldn’t notice him. They never did. 

It was a good-sized yacht, with lots of swinging tea lights and top-40 radio to disturb the quiet night. The party was apparently of the middle-aged Kook variety, with women in low cut dresses tailored to set off the results of their plastic surgery and men in sports coats looking for a way to cheat on their wives. 

One of the women whooped and leaned out over the railing, her wine glass dangling precariously over the side. She looked up as the moon emerged from the clouds, and JJ recognized her with a pang. 

She was a client. 

That woman with her pearls and her expensive booze and her giddy laugh, a flock of other rich women surrounding her, had just last week pushed JJ to his knees, moaning as she forced his head between her legs. He remembered the vice like grip of her hand on his shoulder, holding him down. The pain of her French manicure digging into his skin. 

Who could have guessed that the beautiful woman on the boat had something so wrong inside her that she had paid to dominate a mostly-homeless sixteen year old without a pang of bad conscience?

Because that’s what he hadn’t told his friends. It’s what he’d barely even let himself realize. The women he went down on weren’t just looking for an orgasm. They were looking for someone to assert their power over, to flinch at their slaps, to do what they said, to say nothing in return but “Yes ma’am.” And JJ happened to be very good at that kind of thing already. He’d been enduring pain and shoving down humiliation for as long as he could remember.

When they flung him to the ground afterwards with his jaw aching and pulled him up by his hair, he saw the gleam in their eye. Power. They were after power. Maybe their husbands treated them with as little care as they treated JJ and they wanted to call the shots for once, or maybe they were just used to getting what they want. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. 

JJ watched the boat slink back into the darkness, the music and the faces fading. 

He couldn’t do this anymore. It didn’t matter that they were attractive, or that they smelled nice, or even that JJ sometimes got turned on. It was fucking wrong. 

And the only person who’d tried to tell him that, he’d yelled at and called a bitch. 

John B. and Pope were good friends, brothers even, loyal to the death and always had his back. They would probably let him get away with murdering someone and not blink an eye. But they were too desensitized to the realities of JJ’s life to offer much of an intervention. 

But Kiara. Kiara with her big house and her three square meals a day and her “Save the Turtles” idealism had seen clearly just how fucked the situation was. It was her who always cuddled up to him on days when his body hurt too much to do anything but lie on John B’s couch, it was her who always voiced what the others’ wouldn’t: “You don’t deserve this,” quietly, without overwrought emotion, just a statement of fact. 

JJ didn’t like anyone telling him what he didn’t deserve, or what wasn’t his fault, or any of the other cloying catchphrases hurtled at him by teachers and random adults before they lost interest and moved on to the next kid on their list. He knew none of them really cared. But Kie always did. John B and Pope always did. 

He stood up, feeling suddenly dizzy. 

“I am not doing that shit anymore,” he said out loud, just to hear it echoing over the waves. 

It felt good. It felt really good. Like there was some new energy fizzing inside of him, burning away the clammy ghost of the Kooks’ touches.

He hoisted his backpack over his shoulders. He changed his mind. He could face Luke tonight. Give him the money, take the beating, out before sunrise and back to the Chateau. 

And if Kie was still there, give her a big, big hug. 

***

It started the way things always start. 

JJ had been called hotheaded, and that was true, but he also had more conflict diffusion strategies than a DCS social worker. As follows:

1) First, pause outside and assess. Truck in the driveway means he’s here. Light on in the living room means he’s awake. No music blaring means probably no coke. But smell the air for the stale, beery smell permeating the house that means Luke is drunk, the kind of drunk that lasts for several days. 

2) Next, enter quietly, but announce your presence quickly. No surprises. 

3) Have the money in hand, lead with it. Stare at the ground, don’t react to the name calling, the accusations, the comparisons to your piece of shit mother. Say “Yes, sir” and “No, sir.” Promise you aren’t stealing anything from him. Stay silent when he calls you an ungrateful bastard.

4) Once the verbal assault abates, it’s safe to look up. Gauge his level of aggression, see if it’s okay to make a break for the bedroom or if he needs to be talked down some more.

5) When the first swing comes, it’s often unexpected. It used to be that JJ would trigger a beating with a smartass comment, or a fumbled task. But now it takes nothing, absolutely nothing, to set Luke off. Just the sight of his son’s face is enough to send him into a rage. The normal rules are arms around the head or internal organs, depending on where he’s hitting hardest. Don’t plead, it makes him madder. Don’t try to escape, he’ll drag you back by your ankles. Just wait til he gets bored and his arm gets tired, then drag your sorry ass out of there as quickly as you can and try to avoid him for as long as possible. 

Those are JJ’s rules of survival, honed after many long years of experience. He doesn’t break the rules. Not if he wants to keep out of Intensive Care.

But tonight that energy was still fizzing and sparking inside him. That energy that told him he was worth more than being the battered plaything of rich people who barely knew his name. 

That energy that whispered, in Kie’s voice, that he didn’t deserve this.

So when Luke lumbered up from the couch and grabbed JJ by the neck, JJ whirled out of his grasp, gasping, and hit his dad in the stomach. Luke’s eyes widened, his mouth spreading into a mirthless, horrible smile. 

“You finally growing some balls, son? You think you can take me? Aw shit, boy, I ain’t that old yet.”

He grabbed a flashlight off of the side table. A big, heavy duty flashlight with a metal rim. 

That’s when JJ knew he was in deep shit. 

The first blow missed. JJ dove for his knees, trying to knock his dad off-balance. Luke stumbled, but caught himself on the back of the sofa. He raised the flashlight again, and JJ twisted and lifted his arm to block the blow. 

As soon as the metal connected with his hand JJ felt nauseating pain, radiating up his arm and causing his vision to flicker. He howled, automatically curling over the injured hand and trying to stay upright. 

“Shut the fuck up, kid, you want the whole Cut to hear you?” Luke growled. It had been a long time since JJ had yelled like that during a beating. But JJ didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care about the stupid rules. 

He felt the ground swaying beneath him, and then he was lying on the dirty carpet, his ears ringing as his vision turned brown and hazy. His dad buried his foot in his stomach and his back, again and again again. 

But JJ felt a strange, almost manic joy as his consciousness slowly ebbed away in the face of the blinding pain. There was a truth buoying him, a truth that his friends had tried to force into his head for a long time. 

He didn’t deserve this. 

He couldn’t wait to tell Kiara she was right. 

His dad gave a final kick to his gut, and JJ gave a strangled cry before the room faded and he remembered nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay friends. I know that was dark and difficult, but it was a real turning point for JJ. I think he can now begin to heal, and this fic can start finally looking up. 
> 
> Feedback, suggestions, critiques, and emojis always welcome (aka coveted). 
> 
> <3


	7. Chapter 7

John B.’s knee hadn’t stopped jiggling in about ten hours. He was perched on the very edge of the couch (JJ’s couch) with his chin in his hands, with so much anguished tension radiating off of him that it hurt to look at him. 

Kie took another lap of the kitchen just for something to do. After another hasty excuse to her parents, who are definitely pissed off at this point, she’d stayed the night at the Chateau. Pope and Sarah had gone home to sleep for a few hours but they were both back. Pope was staring at his phone with a slightly scary intensity, just willing it to ring. Sarah sat curled up in a hard backed chair, looking a little lost but still getting up once every few minutes to make sure everyone had tea or to ask if anyone wanted to eat anything. 

Nobody did. 

“You can go home,” Kie whispered to her as she passed by. “It’s just that every time JJ goes to Luke’s… I mean, he’s probably fine. You can go home. I’ll text you later.”

“No it’s okay,” Sarah said, and Kie didn’t miss the quick glance at John B’s huddled form. “I’ll stay with you guys til you hear from him. Why can’t you just go over there and make sure he’s okay?”

“Bad idea,” said Kie, sinking into the chair next to Sarah. “Last time John B. went over to check on JJ, Luke got all offended and angry and ended up locking JJ in his room for a week. It was during finals too, so JJ almost failed all his classes. He mostly passed just because the teachers didn’t want to deal with him for another year.”

“I can’t believe we went to school together for like six years and I never even met him,” Sarah said.  
Yeah, well that was the way with Kildare County public education. Once you were labeled gifted you were vaulted into a world of A.P. classes and trips to the mainland for college visits and visits from famous authors. Once you were labeled “remedial” it was lazy teachers, stuffy classrooms and constant visits to the principal. And if all of the “smart” kids came from the flourishing Montessori Figure 8 elementary school and all of the “dumb” kids came from the underfunded Cut elementary school, well nobody really cared enough to analyze that. 

Kie loved the Outer Banks, but sometimes she couldn’t wait to get out of the entire country. 

Instead of treating Sarah to a rant about the brokenness of American education, she just squeezed her hand and stood up again. 

He was fine. He had to be fine. JJ was the physically strongest and emotionally toughest out of all of them. Even if sometimes being around his dad made him seem so small and vulnerable.

She was opening the fridge to possibly scrounge up some breakfast to force down when she heard it - the mixture of buzzes and dings of three phones going off at the same time. 

She grabbed her phone as quickly as she could, at the same time that she heard Pope’s “oh, shit” and John B. shot past her, looking for his car keys. 

“What?” Sarah demanded as the Pogues around her burst into action. 

Kie showed her the phone screen while kicking on her shoes. 

\- At dads can’t move come get me

“Oh, shit,” Sarah echoed, then joined the others in the scramble into the van. 

It only took twenty minutes to pull up the Maybanks’ double-wide, but Kie swore she aged about three years in that time. Pope wouldn’t stop tapping a nervous rhythm on the window and John B. was taking the curves so fast that the loose water bottle banging around on the van’s floor would rocket and hit her in the ankles.

When they arrived, Kie was the first out the door. She ran up the overgrown driveway and wrenched the doorknob, which popped open easily. The others came piling after her.

“Where is he?” John B. said, sounding like he had access to only fifty percent of his normal oxygen supply. 

Kie rounded the corner, and then she saw him. 

JJ was curled up on his side, his breathing ragged and his greasy hair falling in his face. It was clear he hadn’t moved in hours. There was a thick green wool blanket folded over him, and resting on it was a mangled, swollen appendage that used to be JJ’s right hand.

“Oh my god,” she heard Sarah crying, and Pope and John B. were on either side of JJ in a second.

“JJ, can you hear us?” Pope asked, his voice low and clear even though his hands were shaking. “What’s going on bud, talk to me.”

JJ looked up at them and exhaled heavily. His eyes rested on her. 

“Kie,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she said, reaching out a tentative hand. When he didn’t flinch away, she lightly placed it on his chest. A tear leaked out of his eye. 

“He’s not here, Kie.” 

“I know, babe, I know,” she whispered, exchanging panicked looks with the boys. They’d seen JJ high, drunk, raging, and crying, but this was new. He had never been this softly broken, lost in a haze of unreality.

“He can’t hurt you, he’s not here.”

“Nobody’s gonna hurt me, babe,” she whispered, using every ounce of willpower she had to keep her voice soft and steady even though she felt like screaming. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you either.”

“He’s in shock,” Pope muttered, bending over his hand and examining it with stifled horror. “He needs to go to the hospital, like right now.”

“He can’t,” John B. said sharply. He wasn’t succeeding at holding back his tears, which were currently coating his cheeks. But he spoke with conviction. “Hospital means cops, DCS, all that shit. Foster care on the mainland.” He spoke that last sentence with such fear that Kie knew John B. was voicing all his own nightmares as he looked at JJ’s curled-up body. He carefully pried JJ’s phone out of his left, unbruised hand and checked the messages. 

“We need to get him out of here before Luke comes back. Maybe bribe Jorge’s cousin to come look at him, she’s a paramedic...” 

His rambling was interrupted by the sound of sirens. Sirens that were getting louder. Very loud. Headed their way. 

“Fuck,” John B. swore, jumping up to look out the window. “Did you do this?” he demanded, rounding on Sarah. 

“Of course not,” she yelled back, her face pale and her eyes wet. “I haven’t done shit, I’ve been in this room the whole time.”

“Nobody here called the cops, but I’m sorry John B. it’s a damn good thing they’re here because JJ needs way more medical help that Jorge’s cousin can give him,” Pope spat angrily, standing up. 

John B. yelled something back and JJ, confused at all of the loud noises, started looking around and curling up smaller, his voice breaking into whimpers. Kie moved her hand in small circles on his chest and hissed in her most dangerous voice. 

“You two calm the fuck down, you’re upsetting him. Sarah, when the cops come, answer the door in your most non-threatening white girl voice and tell them exactly what happened. John B., sit down and shut up. Pope, go see if there’s any ice in the freezer. We’re telling them exactly what happened, what time he texted, what time we found him. We’re insisting he get medical care immediately, and that no legal action regarding his guardianship be taken before talking to lawyers.”

“Whose lawyers?” John B. protested weakly, but he sunk into an armchair and Pope and Sarah sprung into action. She didn’t know how she always ended up as the de-facto leader in these situations, but nobody seemed to complain. Well, JJ. JJ always complained. But for now he’s just groaning into the carpet. 

“It hurts, Kie.”

“I know, baby,” she whispered, praying her touch was grounding and not triggering right now as she continued to massage his chest. 

“There’s an ambulance coming, too,” Sarah reported tensely, peering out the window. A rush of relief filled Kie. She didn’t want to think about foster care or pressing charges or any of it, she just wanted JJ safe. And as she glanced again at his swollen hand, she knew she could do nothing to help him without a hospital. About thirty seconds later there was a firm rap on the door and a deep voice calling out “Kildare County PD, open up.”

Sarah took a deep breath, then opened up the door.

“Hi officer,” she said, her voice shaky. “Come in, he just texted us and we found him like this, he needs help.”

There were two officers, one a burly salt-and-pepper guy with a mustache and other a thin, slightly nervous-looking woman with big brown eyes. The man stepped in and his eyes swept over the scene with a practiced thoroughness. When his eyes fell on JJ, he hurried forward and put his fingers on his neck, JJ cringing away and gasping. 

“Clear to enter,” Shoupe barked into his radio, and within minutes there were three EMTs barging into the house.

“Kids, in the back with me,” he ordered, and Pope and Sarah dutifully followed suit, Sarah’s eyes wide with shock and Pope’s eyes wide with fear. 

John B. hesitated for a moment. “You too, Routledge,” Shoupe growled, and John B. stood up slowly, his eyes full of loathing. “And you, miss.” 

Kie didn’t want to leave JJ, but the EMTs were already swarming in front of her, inserting a needle into his vein and talking to him slowly as he turned his head back and forth, disoriented. 

“C’mon, Kie,” John B. muttered, extending a hand to help her up before walking back to the kitchen. 

“Now,” Shoupe started once they were all gathered and he’d muttered some things into his radio. “I’m here with a warrant to arrest Luke Maybank,” he said, studying each of the kids, with eyes lingering on John B. “A neighbor heard screaming last night. Took a video of Luke whaling on the kid. Unfortunately, this particular individual was under the influence last night, and didn’t think to send that video until they came down this morning. Now I’m not complaining, because that junkie did send us the most compelling evidence to put that sonofabitch behind bars I’ve been looking for in all my career. But that did give Mr. Maybank time to disappear. So if any of y’all know where that piece of shit is hiding, you better tell me now.” 

“No, sir,” said Pope forcefully.

“And you better hope you find him before I do,” John B. muttered darkly, his eyes full of challenge. 

“Hmmmm,” Shoupe said, studying John B. and sighing. “I hope I do find him, boy. You ladies know where Mr. Maybank may have gotten off to?”

“No, sir,” Sarah said, and Kie was again amazed that she hadn’t already run off to her Kook Kastle by now. That girl kept surprising all of them. 

“No, sir,” Kie echoed. “He doesn’t have a job and he drinks at the Harbor Bar down by the water. He has a sister who lives on Rose Street but they don’t talk.”

The others looked at her, amazed, but JJ had said those things to all of them; granted, spread out in vague conversations over the course of a few years, but still. It wasn’t her fault she had accidentally memorized every detail about his life he’d ever dropped. 

“That right there is very helpful,” Shoupe said, pointing at her with his pen after jotting all that down. He craned his head to look over at the living room. 

JJ was on a stretcher, oxygen tendrils in his nose and his hand resting on a bed of gauze as the EMTs marched him out the door to the ambulance. His face was still and peaceful, sedated. Kie suddenly couldn’t stand up any longer, and she sort of fell against Pope, who wrapped his arms around her. 

“You kids should head home and get some rest,” Shoupe said, with something like kindness coloring his voice for the first time. “They’re taking him to Water View Hospital, you can check in a few hours. I do have one last question.”

He turned to the kids, his eyebrows furrowed together and his shoulders heavy.

“Is there any other adult in that kid’s life that we can call? Someone to be there when he wakes up.”

There was a long, horrible, thrumming pause. 

“No, sir,” John B. said at last, bitterness and exhaustion warring in his voice. “There’s just us.”

Shoupe nodded, then bowed his head. “Then you kids better show up to the hospital when he wakes up while we figure out what to do next.”

“Don’t worry,” said Kie huskily. Sarah leaned over and embraced John B. as he broke down once more, face twisted in quiet agony.

“We’ll be there. We’ll always be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, angst galore. Hopefully you guys like it, I'm always down for a redirect in the comments if you have suggestions!
> 
> Take care of yourselves out there!


	8. Chapter 8

“Dude, this is like real morphine. Like the good stuff.”

Pope rolled his eyes and flicked JJ’s upper arm, one of the few non-bandaged parts of his body. 

“Please don’t develop a dependency. You know that there’s a 23% of…”

“Shut up, Pope,” John B. interrupted, throwing a hospital gift shop teddy bear at him. “If JJ wants to enjoy getting legally high, let him.”

JJ grinned and took another bite of pudding before sticking out his chocolate-covered tongue at Pope. 

“Gross,” Kie complained, and scooted away from him: fairly difficult as they were both squished together in the hospital bed. Kie carefully maintained distance from his torso and the puffy white cast over his right wrist, but she had her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. And damn if JJ didn’t feel better than he had in a long time, despite three broken ribs, a shattered wrist, some mild internal bleeding and a dark, ominous cloud over his future. 

He had morphine, friends, pudding, and Kiara Carerra had kissed him this morning. He was feeling fine.

His friends had shown up right after he woke up from emergency surgery, and hadn’t left much in the following week. They cleared out of the room when nurses came in to check his vitals or change his bandages, but mostly they were there - ordering pizza, making stupid jokes, piling his little rollaway desk with the cheesiest gifts they could find. 

He felt a little bad about making them miss the amazing weather outside… the surf report looked phenomenal, and there were days where despite the fog of the drugs and the aching heaviness of his body, all he wanted to do was rip out his IV and run into the sea. 

But they never acted as if there was anywhere on earth they’d rather be than the cramped, antiseptic-smelling room of Water View Hospital. 

Sarah even showed up, with an obscenely expensive bouquet of flowers and a cake: the same store bought lemon one that she'd brought to the infamous party.

“Hi, JJ,” she said a little awkwardly. He didn’t blame her. She’d spent more time with him when he was unconscious than conscious. 

“Break up with Topper,” JJ answered shortly. 

Pope sucked his breath between his teeth and glanced at Sarah for her reaction. She looked totally shocked. 

“Um, I did. Last night. How did you know? Wait, are people already talking about it?”

“Ha!” barked JJ. “Knew you were a smart one. Now cut me some of that cake, that shit was good.”

If any of friends found JJ’s investment in Kook dating life strange, they didn’t voice it, although Kie was giving him a very weird look.

JJ would share almost anything with the Pogues, but not that. Never that. 

They spent the rest of Sarah’s visit eating and talking shit, and JJ wolf-whistled when John B. slid his arm around Sarah as they tried to squeeze into the same armchair. He fully enjoyed that they turned the exact same color of red.

There had been some unpleasant visitors as well… a nasally-voiced social worker and Shoupe and their questions that JJ had spent a lifetime avoiding. John B. had lingered outside the door the whole time and when they left, he came in and pulled a chair up beside the bed, seemingly finding it hard to speak. 

“I’m sorry man,” he said at last, his voice catching. “I didn’t know what else to tell them. I know I promised but I just couldn’t… I didn’t know what to do.”

“Hey man, it’s okay,” JJ said, trying to catch John B.’s eye. “You did the right thing. I really couldn’t keep living there. Like, I couldn’t. He would have killed me.”

John B. flinched at the ragged truth of those words, but JJ didn’t care. He had to make sure John B. knew how free he finally felt, even with the fear of the unknown. It couldn’t be any worse than being raised by Luke Maybank.

Probably.

“And it’ll be really nice to actually be able to spend the money I make. On, you know, myself,” JJ continued before his thoughts veered too much to the future. “And y’all. Basically I’ll be the Cut sugar daddy and nobody can stop me.”

John B. laughed thinly. He stood up and looked out the window, then dragged a hand through his wavy tangles.

“I think I might, you know, make a call if I have to. Report an unsupervised minor to child services, drinking too much beer in a fishing shack.”

JJ felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach again. 

“What are you saying, dude?”

“You know, if you end up getting sent to the mainland… I could go with you. Finally stop pretending that Uncle T is just around the corner.”

He turned around, his eyes bright and his smile too wide. 

“I mean, probably they’ll find you something in the OBX. In which case, shut your damn mouth, Uncle T is here every week and I’m a very nurtured little peanut. But if they don’t…” He shrugged. “It’s an option, bro.”

John B. practically ran out the door before JJ could say anything. His ears were ringing and his thoughts were bouncing off each other. How the hell could that be true? John B. was terrified of foster care, of cops, of parents, of anything and everything that might threaten his independence and break down his walls. But here he was, offering to throw that all away to keep close to JJ.

Piece of evidence number one that JJ Maybank didn’t deserve his friends. 

Piece of evidence number two was Kie. She was gentle but not hesitant when she climbed into his hospital bed to chastely nuzzle while they watched HGTV and laughed about the Kooks of the world buying overpriced houses. She was firm but not harsh when she made him talk to the social workers and the psychologists and the chaplains who swept in and out of the room like they owned the place. She brought him his favorite fish tacos from the Wreck, and she even defended him from the nurses that glared whenever they got too rowdy. JJ knew most of the hospital staff felt sorry for him, and to his delight Kie wasn’t afraid to milk the situation. She would lay a hand on the charge nurse’s arm, shaking her head and wiping a tear away, then give him a raucous wink when the nurse turned away and Kie pulled out the bottle of Pacifico she’d just smuggled in. She was a pro: JJ couldn’t have taught her better himself. 

Also, there was the kissing. It started with pecks on his cheeks, then quick smooches before leaving, and then they were making out so aggressively his heart monitor started beeping and Kie had to scramble off the bed before the nurses came to investigate. The feel of her hands on his chest, so solid, so secure and steady, soon became his favorite sensation in the world.

They hadn’t talked about it at all, and he was pretty sure the guys didn’t know, but he was always secretly glad when Pope and John B. headed home and he and Kie had their few stolen moments.

But piece of evidence number three that JJ didn’t deserve his friends was the big one. It involved Pope leaning against their rusty sedan in the hospital pick-up zone while Heyward signed some documents discharging John Jasper Maybank into the care of the Heyward household.

“Now, it’s not a permanent placement,” the nasally-voiced social worker lady was saying. “This is just while we find an acceptable place for John.”

“JJ,” Heyward corrected gruffly.

“Yes, JJ,” said the lady with a sugary smile. “Now if we ever get in contact with his aunt…”

“Cora Maybank’s a worse alcoholic than her brother, that’s not gonna happen.”

“Well, or his biological mother…”

“Nobody’s heard from her in ten years, lady.’

“...we’ll let you know,” she finished snappily, eyeing Heyward with some venom. 

“Sure you will,” Heyward said. “C’mon kid, engine’s running.”

Pope hurried to support JJ as he stood up out of the wheelchair they’d insisted on rolling him down in. Standing up made his head spin and his wrist throb, but the doctors had given him the all-clear to recuperate at home. As if home was a given, a guarantee, a place he knew literally anything about. 

“Here you go,” Pope said, sliding JJ into the backseat. JJ tried not to make a sound as the pain bloomed with every jostle.

“This is just until we can find you a good, certified foster home, sweetie,” the social worker crooned through the closed window. 

JJ gave her a tight, forced smile while Heyward slammed the passenger’s door shut in her face.

“Drive, boy,” he hissed at Pope. “If I have to look at that woman’s face for one more second I swear to God.”

Pope drove, past the parked cars and the fancy Kook houses, past the turn-off to the Chateau and the turn-off to the hellscape of a trailer that JJ had called home for the past sixteen years. When they arrived at Pope’s house - a little beat up, but with a view of the sea and the smell of grits coming from within, he felt so lightheaded he thought he might have taken too much morphine again.

“You okay, bro?” Pope asked quietly, as he swung open the back door. Heyward started up the stairs with the black garbage bag full of JJ’s possessions that the cops had salvaged from Luke’s place.

“I can’t let your folks do this,” JJ said, wishing the cast on his hand was less bulky so he could brush away the tears leaking out of his eyes more subtly. “I know they can’t afford it. And that bitch will never let me stay here anyway.”

Pope sighed and looked up at the house. “Well, hate to break it to you but you're not their financial planner, bud. Don’t worry about it.”

JJ scoffed, and Pope flicked his arm again.

“Also if you accuse Heyward of being too poor to take in his son’s loser best friend he’ll kick your ass.”

“Bit soon for the dad ass kicking jokes, yeah?”

“You’re such a dick.”

JJ gave Pope his best shit-eating grin then eased himself out of the car, leaning on Pope until the world stopped spinning and the little house came into focus in front of him. 

“You ready, dude?” asked Pope, his arm around JJ’s waist half in casual affection and half in body weight support as they hobbled forward.

“That depends, is your mom hot?” asked JJ. 

“Honestly, fuck you man.”

He flicked JJ’s arm one more time, and then they walked up the steps together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff after a lot of angst! (Well, it was angsty fluff but you know me)


	9. Chapter 9

Kie decided to wait. Just a few weeks, until JJ was out of the hospital and settled at the Heywards. She wasn’t exactly sure how well that would go… it could definitely be a disaster between JJ’s explosiveness and Heyward’s reputation as a hardass. But she was just going to have to hope for the best and text Pope for updates.

And besides, she and Sarah needed time to plan. Plot ways of getting the other Camerons out of the house. Rafe was living somewhere out west slowly dissolving his trust fund into coke, and Ward took business trips fairly often, but Rose and Wheezie were both homebodies. It took days of subtly manipulative finagling on Sarah’s part to get Rose and Wheezie to the mainland for a few days, but luckily the dual promise of a spa day for Rose and a theater camp for Wheezie did the trick. 

Kie was glad she didn’t actually have to interact with Sarah’s evil stepmother. She would never be able to look at her in the eyes again, not after she heard what she’d done to JJ. Actually, she probably wouldn’t be able to be in the same room as Rose Cameron without breaking her nose. And that wasn’t going to help Operation Steal Back Stolen Gold, and also might make Sarah ask some awkward questions. 

When it came to the actual logistics, they were running into some problems. Namely, how to safely rig up a pulley system with only two people. 

“Um, we could ask John B. for help,” Sarah suggested tentatively. It seemed like lately most of the words out of her mouth were John B.-related. 

“That’s a possibility,” Kie said evenly. The only problem being she hadn’t yet figured out how to tell John B. she was trying to Robin Hood a local millionaire so that he and JJ could start eating properly.

Sarah studied her for a bit. “Hey, you know those starving orphans this money is for?”

“Yes?” whispered Kie.

“Do I know them?”

“Um. Yeah. You do.”

“I think we should ask the one that can walk right now for help. Cuz you’re super buff, but he’s like really, really buff. And could probably operate the pulley with one hand.”

“Easy there, tiger,” Kie muttered, raising her eyebrows. “Why don’t you just make out with him and be done with it?”

Sarah turned red but didn’t answer, just pulled out her phone and checked her makeup before FaceTiming John B. 

“Hey, wanna meet at the Boneyard in five? I have a secret I need to tell you.” She gave the phone such a flirtatious smirk before hanging up that Kie mimed vomiting.

“The Boneyard? Really? He’s gonna show up with his pants off. I know what he wants to bone.”

“Shut up,” Sarah said, laugh-shrieking and hitting Kie with her purse. “I swear, you are just like JJ sometimes.”

When they finally met up with John B. (pants mercifully on) and finished telling their tale, it was almost sunset. The ocean was liquid copper as he looked back at them with such blank shock it was almost funny. 

“So you when you were thirteen, you followed your dad to a creepy old woman’s house, who died of a heart attack the next day. Your dad threatened her with a… a fucking gaff hook? And then he took a bunch of boxes and shit and buried them in your basement, and when you snuck down and looked they were gold? Like actual gold bars.”

“Yeah. Her eyes were... ” Sarah trailed off, glancing nervously around the mostly deserted beach. She seemed to shake herself. “And then a few weeks later the boxes disappeared. I didn’t figure out until Kie and I were hanging in the basement where they had gone, when we discovered the well.”

Kie could still remember the horror movie feeling of that day, as they’d heard the hollow clang beneath the floorboards, then pried them apart to reveal the gaping stone chasm, the darkly metallic-scented cold air blowing up in their faces. 

“The gold is in a little alcove in the wall of the well. If you lean way to one side you can see it, but only if you know what you’re looking for.”

“I helped Sarah do some research, and we learned about this sunken ship called the Royal Merchant that the gold came from and figured out what it all meant. How many people had died looking,” Kie said. A bitter breeze picked up off the sea and raised goosebumps on her legs. She curled her knees closer and wished she was wearing JJ’s old holey sweatshirt. 

John B. fidgeted. “My dad knew about the Royal Merchant,” he said softly. “I sometimes wonder if that’s what he was looking for. You know, that day.”

Kie reached over and squeezed his hand. Sarah looked miserable. 

“My dad doesn’t deserve that gold,” she said at last, her voice thick. “He’s not a good person. He steals and cheats and only cares about money. I promised Kie we’d find a way to get it to people who actually need it.”

She paused, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Someone kind and goofy and kinda handsome.”

John B. straightened, looking between them wildly. 

“Wait, what?”

“You should have the gold,” Kie said bluntly. “And JJ. You both have been screwed by the people supposed to support you. With this kind of money, you wouldn’t have to worry about work or bills or anything. You could just be a kid.”

“Ummm, wow. Wow. Okay, okay, okay. I’m going to need to process this. This is a lot. Pirate gold?”

“English merchant ship gold, not pirate,” Kie corrected impatiently. “And you only have two days, that’s when Wheezie and that woman are leaving Tannyhill for the weekend.”

“We should all split it, that’s only fair.”

“Dude, do I need to show that equity vs equality graphic again?” Kie said, as she looked into John B.’s earnest eyes with a pang. “Sarah and I don’t need the money. We have college funds and money set aside for our first car and our first mortgage. You and JJ do need it. Not because there’s anything wrong with you, but because you got dealt a shit hand. This is trying to even the odds, just a little.”

John B. dropped his gaze and stared at the sand, which was rapidly becoming cold as the last sun rays disappeared beneath the horizon. 

“What about Pope?”

“Pope has parents,” Kie said gently.

“Pope has poor parents,” John B. corrected. “Like he has food and stuff, but not everything you were talking about. He wants to be able to afford college so bad.”

“Okay,” Kie said, looking down at her hands. He was right. Everything she wanted in her future, she could see a path forward to get. That had never been the case for any of the other Pogues, not even Pope. Not for most of the Cut. 

“Okay, you split it three ways. Pogue style. But you have to convince Pope to take stolen goods, I’m not going down that path, it sounds exhausting.”

John B. nodded and rested his chin in his hands in a childlike gesture, but when he looked up his eyes were fiery with excitement.

She grinned at her two friends. “Y’all ready to do this?”

Sarah, who’d been quiet during the negotiations, stood up. 

“Let’s go fuck over my dad,” she announced before marching off to her car.

“Hell, yeah,” John B. said with a surprised laugh, eyes glinting as he watched Sarah stalk off. He turned to Kie slightly awkwardly. 

“Thanks,” he said, and that one syllable trembled with such emotion that Kie felt the full impact of everything he was trying to convey. 

“Thank me if it works and we don’t get arrested for robbing a millionaire,” Kie pointed out. 

“Fair enough,” he laughed. “But I have to go to jail, stealing from my girlfriend’s asshole father seems like the way to go.”

“Your what?” giggled Kiara. 

“I mean, shit no! Did she hear that? I totally meant to say friend, we’re just friends, I mean I think we’re just friends. Definitely have not had a DTR talk.” 

“Okay, bud,” Kie said, giving him a shove. “But I have blackmail on you for five years, or however long it will take for you to actually ask Sarah out.”

The panic on his face was totally worth it as he took off to the van at a full sprint. 

She ambled over to Sarah’s car, where the heater and Katy Perry were both on full blast. She kicked the sand of her feet before sliding in. 

“Do you think it’ll work?” she asked softly, as Sarah finished braiding her wind-tangled hair and flicked it over her shoulder. 

“No way it doesn’t,” said Sarah with that trademark Kook confidence as she reversed out of the parking lot. 

It turned out that, as often happened, Sarah was mostly but not completely right. 

They decided to do it at dusk. Their pulley system did work, with John B. easily lowering Sarah into the well while Kie acted as back-up belay, her hands gripping the rope so tightly it left long red burns on her palms. Sarah reached through the crumbling walls and didn’t even scream when she disturbed a rat that skittered down into the darkness. She opened one of the dusty boxes and pulled out three dully glinting bars, using both hands to lug each one into her backpack. They pulled her up easily, stashed their gear under another loose floorboard, and left the neighborhood without attracting too much suspicion. Kie and Sarah chatted loudly in the front of the car and smiled and waved at the neighbors on their lawns they passed, while John B. lay down flat on the floor in the backseat, hugging the very heavy backpack with a dark hood pulled over his curls.

By Monday, John B. had stolen a blowtorch from somewhere and melted the gold down into misshapen lumps. 

By Wednesday, Sarah had casually headed to the mainland to go shopping, stopping at a boutique jewelry store to pawn off some gold she’d melted down from some really ugly jewelry her great-aunt had left her, and it was so annoying when old people left you these stupid pieces, wasn’t it? She saw their sharp beady eyes take in her couture dress and the massive diamonds in her ears. Any suspicion they might have had died as their greed took over, pouring her champagne and giving her only three quarters of what the gold was worth. 

By Thursday evening, Kie had three neat wads of cash in three manilla envelopes. $23,000 dollars each. Enough for a year of school for Pope, and seeds for savings accounts for JJ and John B. To a Kook, this was barely a month’s worth of expenses. For the Pogues, it was the gateway to another life. And it was only three of the bars.

Nothing in the world could puncture the joy that she was feeling. 

Until Friday night, when Kie got a call. Fugitive Luke Maybank had been spotted back in the area. He was considered armed and dangerous. 

And JJ Maybank was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the whole gold pawning thing would have gone so much better if Sarah was in charge and nobody can change my mind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic depiction of child abuse and domestic violence. Potentially very triggering.
> 
> If you or a loved one are experiencing domestic abuse, please call 1-800-799-7233 (in the US).

The issue, when it came down to it, was that JJ didn’t expect to go soft so quickly at the Heywards. He only had been there three weeks - playing video games with Pope, trying to relax around Heyward, eating as much of Brandy Heyward’s cooking as he dared without bankrupting the family. 

He’d gotten used to someone making sure he was doing his physical therapy regime once the cast turned into a brace. Or asking what his favorite ice cream flavor was and then buying it. He’d so quickly become acclimated to this kind of life – unloading the dishwasher with his good hand while Pope rambled on about his latest creepy anatomy factoid and the parents curled up on the couch watching Monk reruns – that he kind of forgot to be afraid. He had hardly seen anybody except the Heywards in the past weeks anyway. Kie and John B. were hatching some complicated plot they didn’t think he knew about, and although he was fuzzy on the details he knew it involved Sarah Cameron and maybe something illegal. He was proud of them for being the little rebels he always knew they could be, and to be honest part of him relished being able to just chill right now… soak in the eternal comfort of Pope punctuated by the occasional pleasant awkwardness of being taken care of by parents who actually cared. 

So that’s why he just answered the door without peering through the blinds or the peephole. The knock was a loud, aggressive thump, and still JJ didn’t suspect. He was home alone, and still there wasn’t even a trace of anxiety. He opened the door. 

Until the knockout punch left him staggering backwards, and then Luke was already on him, dragging him in a headlock down to the familiar pick-up, the one with brownish stains on the floor mats where JJ’s blood had never fully washed out. 

JJ thrashed and tugged at his dad’s wiry forearms, trying to get enough air to scream. That’s when he felt it… a cold metal cylinder pressed to his ribs. 

“You make a noise, I pull the trigger,” Luke slurred, and his voice was unrecognizable, warped with rage and cocaine.

JJ froze and his dad bodily threw him in the backseat, landing three more punches in quick succession that made JJ’s stomach seize and his mind start to fog up. 

No, no, no, he had to stay alert. His body wasn't even fully healed from last time, and his mind started fading out as the truck lurched into gear and sped off. But he had let someone know, the cops were looking for his dad, surely they would spot his truck, someone would find him… 

But it had been five days now and nobody had found him. They were in a spot that JJ knew and he doubted anyone else on the island did. It was a storage unit tucked away in a wetland by the inlet, where no road led and no boats passed by. It had been Luke’s hideaway for years, where he kept everything that he wanted hidden from the cops - his guns, his drugs, his stolen boats, and now his son. The truck was hidden in a little copse of trees, and Luke had even gone out with a soapy bucket to wash any trace of JJ’s DNA from the grass he’d dragged him through, in case they had tracking dogs. 

JJ’s head drooped, chin on his chest. With each day it was harder to think clearly. Luke brought in a bottle of water once a day, and a peanut butter sandwich or a bowl of cold canned soup that JJ devoured, no longer caring about how pathetic he looked. His left hand and right ankle were both handcuffed to the pipes lining the perimeter of the unit, and he’d rubbed his skin into bleeding circles before giving up on trying to break free. 

It looked like Luke had been hiding here the whole time, and JJ was destroying himself for forgetting to tell the cops about this place. He hadn’t been here since he was a little kid, and it had never even crossed his mind that his dad might have been lurking in the old boat storage. 

He thought a lot about Kie now, as his thoughts melted in a glittering haze of malnutrition. Her hair, her smile, the way her hands had bunched up the itchy hospital blankets on his chest when they kissed. He thought about his phone lying on the Heywards’ floor, and how many missed messages he would have. He thought about Mrs. Heyward’s sweet potato biscuits and Pope’s surfboard and the way John B’s face had looked when he offered to turn himself in so they could stay together. 

A noise made JJ start awake, try to claw his way back into the present moment. He flinched as a ray of light flooded in from the doorway, disturbing the dusty darkness of the unit. 

Luke had two bottles of water this time, and he was swaying on his feet. Even more doped up than usual. JJ straightened up, groaning aloud as his agonized muscles twitched under the shift of weight. 

Twice Luke had uncuffed JJ, letting him walk around the unit with tiny, painful steps, trying to will his atrophied muscles back into movement. Luke kept the gun trained on JJ the whole time, his wet, red-rimmed eyes narrowed for any hint at escape. 

JJ wasn’t that stupid. 

He wondered if this was another one of those little walks, but Luke just tossed the bottle at JJ’s chest. 

“You gotta open it,” JJ rasped, too tired for humiliation as his weak fingers scrabbled at the cap. “Or free up my hand.”

“Hmmm,” Luke said, and his eyes seemed to droop. He walked over and kicked at JJ’s leg, which jerked against the ankle cuff. JJ bit down on his cry of pain as the scabbed wound on his ankle reopened. 

“Guess you ain’t going anywhere, kid,” he muttered before leaning over to unlock the handcuff. 

JJ closed his eyes as his dad hovered over him, trying not to gag on the smell of body odor, beer, and something more rotten. He used to bring his clothes over to John B’s to wash, just to get rid of that smell. 

When his hand came free it dropped onto his lap like a rock, and JJ tried to clasp and unclasp his fingers waiting for the blood to come back into them. In the back of his mind he acknowledged vaguely that if he wasn’t in such physically good shape before all this happened, he might be dead by now. 

He got the lid off and took a long, measured gulp, making sure not to spill a single drop. He let his head hit the wall behind him, gasping at the relief of having water and two free hands. 

When he opened his eyes his father was staring at him. Luke was different today, his movements slowed as if he was moving through syrup. Maybe Valium? Or Ambien. JJ’s learned to identify them all. 

He was whispering something, and JJ had to crane forward to hear.

“They tried to take you away from me.” His eyes were bright and glassy. “Tried to take you away, like your momma left and my momma left. But not you.” He leaned forward to JJ. 

“Can’t let you go. You’re all I got. You gotta stay here, with me.” He slipped slightly as he tried and failed to get to his feet. 

Luke looked at JJ so plaintively, and JJ’s vision swam with tears. 

It wasn’t hatred in Luke’s eyes. 

That was what scared JJ the most. 

It wasn’t hatred that that kept him tied up here, or that pointed the gun, or threw the punches. 

It was the cold, mangled, gnarled wreck of Luke’s love. 

Love that had been stewing in bitterness and toxicity so long that it was indistinguishable from hate.

And that hurt so much more. The fact that his dad loved him. And the fact that it didn’t matter. Because being brutalized by Luke Maybank’s twisted love left the exact same scars as being brutalized by hatred.

But JJ had people who loved him properly. And it was his responsibility to get back to them.

“I know, dad,” he said, the tears dripping off his chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Luke lifted his head and looked in confusion.

“Come… come here Dad. Let me give you a hug.” Those words hung in the air, never spoken before in JJ’s living memory.

Luke’s smile came in slow motion, as his drug-addled brain slowly processed the information. He crawled forward, unsteady on his feet. Then he wrapped his arms around JJ. 

For one, brief, horrible, wonderful moment, JJ allowed himself to be held. 

Then he pulled back and decked his dad with all the strength his spasming arms could muster. The blow immediately made Luke go limp as his already flickering consciousness faded. 

JJ reached around Luke’s neck and pulled the silver chain, the one that had the keys to the handcuffs and the Phantom. It broke neatly and JJ scrambled to unlock the ankle cuff from the pipe.

He spared Luke Maybank one last look, sprawled across the gravel with his mouth open and his shallow breathing rasping in the darkness. Then he turned and ran, adrenaline giving his shaking legs a strength he didn’t know they had. 

A strength he never knew he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JESUS CHRIST that chapter was draining to write. 
> 
> Kudos and comments keep me going. 
> 
> Only one more chapter for this fic left!


	11. Chapter 11

Kie was at the police station when she got the call. 

Shoupe was off-duty that day so she was talking to some smug motherfucker named Thomas, and it was going to be a miracle if she left this precinct without ‘assaulting an officer’ on her permanent record. Thomas had a lowcountry drawl and wore too much cologne, and he was currently leading a master class in condescension as he leaned across the desk. 

“Look, he’s probably just fishing with his daddy, I’m sure he’ll come back when he’s sobered up.”

“His father is wanted for assaulting him, I don’t think they’re fishing,” Kie spat out, trying to remember everything her dad had drilled into her about staying calm with law enforcement. 

“Oh ya know.” Thomas’ sneer was nausea-inducing. “These old Cut families, it’s just how they operate, don’t know how to settle nothin’ without their fists.”

There was literal blood in Kie’s mouth from how hard she was biting the inside of her cheek, trying not to scream. 

“Where’s Officer Shoupe?” was all she said. 

He leaned back in his chair and smirked. “I told you, sweetheart, he’s off. What, you don’t like talking to me?”

“I have to go,” Kie said, praying there wasn’t a tremble in voice. She booked it to the exit, glancing behind her. She was almost to the car when her phone rang. 

There was already so much adrenaline coursing through Kie’s system that an incoming call from the Heyward’s landline tipped her anxiety into almost unbearable levels. She could hardly speak when she answered. 

“He’s here,” Pope said. “He’s okay, Kie. He got away. He’s here.”

And then she did yell, as all the pent-up horror and fear and trepidation and worst-case scenarios were finally released from her body and relief crashed into her like a barrel wave. She sank to the ground, sitting on the dirty police station parking lot and thanking every deity she had prayed to over the past few days. 

He was home.

When she arrived at Pope’s house, the sun was setting. JJ was sitting at the dining room table, his back to her. He’d clearly showered, and the thin fabric of Pope’s borrowed shirt was sticking to his shoulder blades. John B. was already there, sitting next to him with his hand on JJ’s forearm, talking to him in a low voice.

Sarah was sitting on the couch, and she nodded at Kie nervously. Mrs. Heyward came in from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice and set it in front of JJ. 

“Just take little sips of that, okay baby?” She let her hand hover over his shoulder, then seemed to think better of it and just wiped her eyes instead, hurrying out of the room.

“JJ,” whispered Kie, and she felt like she was floating across the room towards him. She knelt by his chair and looked up at him. 

JJ’s face was pale and clammy, his eyes watery. There was a big bandage around his left wrist, and the right one was missing the brace she knew he was still supposed to be wearing. Bruises darkened his jawbone and temple, and there was another one visible on his neck before disappearing under his shirt. 

“Hi, Kie,” he said, and then he was in her arms, and she felt the droplets from his wet hair mingle with the tears on her cheeks. 

“Fucking hell, JJ,” she cried, clinging on to him without putting too much pressure on his body. He seemed so fragile under her touch, as if the past five days had whittled him down to something more tender and breakable than the brash, headstrong boy she loved. 

“They’ve got squad cars headed to that place now,” a deep voice behind her said, and she turned to see Heyward standing in the entrance. “He’ll still be there, son, they’ll put him away for good.” 

JJ disentangled himself from Kie. He took a deep breath. 

“Are the cops coming here?” His voice was wrecked, scratchy and soft from dehydration and disuse.

“They’ll be here later tonight. They have some questions you’re gonna have to answer.”

JJ nodded and blinked, his eyes seeming to struggle to open again. 

“Can’t it wait?” John B. interrupted. “He just got free for Christsake, he doesn’t need to be interrogated right now.”

Heyward frowned at John B. and then sat into the chair across from JJ. 

“You need to know something else, son. I believe the Department of Child Service is also coming with the cops. They’re looking into an emergency foster care placement off the islands, since you’re a child at risk.”

“But why can’t he stay with you?” Kie asked, feeling panic rising in her chest. Surely the universe wouldn’t bring her back to JJ just to take him away so soon. 

“We’re not licensed foster parents,” Heyward said, the bitterness in his voice making it very apparent what he thought of that hurdle. “And the only thing the government knows how to do is jerk off to its own bureaucracy.” 

Of all the reactions to have in this moment, JJ laughed.

“That’s a great way to put it, Mr H.” His hoarse voice had a sparkle of mischief in the weariness. 

Heyward smiled, then reached over and patted JJ’s hand. 

“You’re a good kid, Maybank.” His voice was also husky with emotion. 

The front door opened and everybody jumped, JJ flinching so badly his orange juice sloshed on to the table, but it was just Pope, his arms full of plastic bags. 

“Okay, I’ve got Jello, thermometers, neosporin, arnica, gel packs, and some pot.. ummmmm, potted plants. For the nature vibes. You know. Healing.”

He looked at his dad and gulped, but Heyward just shook his head and walked out of the room. 

“I’m gonna go check on Brandy,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Pope as he passed him. 

“Fuck me,” Pope whispered as he watched his retreating father. “I buy weed one time and of course I immediately tell my fucking father.”

“Aw, I can’t believe you bought weed for me, dude,” JJ said with a rasping chuckle. “They probably charged you like, triple.”

“Excuse you, I know how to drive a bargain,” Pope muttered and JJ laughed again. She could see that he was trembling, his eyes narrowed in pain and sweat beading on his face even as teased Pope.

“No,” she said. 

Everyone looked at her. 

“No,” she repeated. “Absolutely not. We are not letting JJ go to the mainland because some stupid fucking system thinks it knows what’s best for him.” 

“I agree,” a man’s voice in the corner said. 

Nobody had noticed the back door creak open, or Shoupe walk in. He was wearing a T-shirt and board shorts, and the shock of seeing him out of uniform was enough that Kie didn’t recognize him for a few beats. 

“What are you doing here?” John B. hissed, his eyes wide. 

“If anybody asks kid, I wasn’t here, and it’s your word against mine. I feel pretty good about who a court would side with.”

His voice was quiet but urgent as he crossed the living room, Sarah pulling her legs onto the couch as he passed her.

“Now look,” he said. “I’ve been listening to the radio chatter from home because I guess I got invested in y’all, against my better judgement. Kid, they just arrested your dad. Quite a few counts of possession on top of the assault on a minor charges. He’s looking at serious time, provided you testify against him.”

“I'm gonna testify,” JJ said quietly. 

“Good boy. My guess is they don’t get him to trial til September at the earliest. Which brings me to my very urgent recommendation, which again, you did not hear from me because I was never here.”

“What?” Kie whispered, looking nervously towards Pope’s parents’ room. 

“Get the fuck out. I talked with Cheryl, your case worker. Troubled sixteen-year-old with a criminal record? Forget the warm and fuzzy placements. I know where they’re planning on sending you. You’re looking at the kinda environment where Luke Maybank would fit right in, you understand?”

JJ looked up wildly, a small, wounded noise escaping from him. 

“No, fuck, fuck, no. No, I can’t anymore, I can’t do it.”

“I know, kid,” Shoupe’s face was twisted with some emotion in between pity and anger. “You shouldn’t have to live with that. So that’s why I’m putting my ass and my career on the fucking line and saying get out of the Outer Banks – hell, get out of the country. Come back in September for school and Luke’s trial, and hopefully by that time we’ll have something better figured out for you.” 

He glanced around the house, his eyes landing on the picture of Mr. and Mrs. Heyward framed on the wall. He pursed his lips. 

“Holy fuck,” Pope breathed out heavily. “Okay, okay, okay. We need to plan. We’ll need food, maps, first aid, I assume a boat, but we could consider taking a car...”

“Wait, wait, wait. I don’t have anywhere to go,” JJ said, looking terrified. “I’ve never even been to Virginia Beach.”

“I know where we can go,” Sarah said, and Kie looked around in surprise. “There’s this property in Cancun that Rose bought a few years ago, but she hates it because she doesn’t like the vibes, whatever that means.”

“Oh, is that the one you showed me with the creepy fountain? That would be perfect, actually, nobody would think to look for us there,” John B. said.

“Us?” JJ looked from person to person, his voice cracking. “What are you all talking about?”

“Of course we’re all going,” Kie said, and once she said it out loud it seemed so obvious, as if there never was a choice to make in the first place. JJ, Pope, John B, and even Sarah… they were a family. They didn’t let each other flee into exile alone.

Shoupe stood up and pushed in his chair. 

“Good luck,” he said gruffly, and turned.

Heyward was standing in the doorway. 

There was a loaded pause as they looked at each other. Then Heyward gave a small, solemn nod and stepped aside. Shoupe exhaled and nodded back, before walking out the door and disappearing into the night. 

“There’s dry goods in the basement, hurry your ass up, the cops should be here in less than an hour!” Heyward said. “Before you ask, I heard it all, it’s my own damn house. Now how the hell do you plan to afford living in Cancun for six weeks?”

“Um, money won’t be an issue,” Sarah said with a quick glance at Kie. “Do you have the uh, resources, Kie?”

“Yeah it’s in my bag,” Kie said. As if she was gonna leave that kind of money just lying around at home. 

“And how you gonna find a boat that can take you to Mexico safely?” Heyward pressed. 

“I, uhh… I might have taken one from my dad today,” JJ said quietly. He pulled a silver chain out of his pocket and held it up, a small boat key dangling from it. 

“Well,” Heyward said, crossing his arms. “I guess you kids have yourself a plan.”

Fifteen minutes later John B. and JJ coasted up to the pier in front of the Heywards with the lights on the Phantom off. The boat was where JJ had left it after making his escape, beached a few hundred yards away. Sarah and Kie were waiting with the bags of food and supplies pilfered from Heyward’s ever abundant stock. They started loading up while Pope talked with his parents, allowing himself to be drawn into a long hug. 

“You take care of that boy, okay?” Mrs. Hayward said, planting a kiss on her son’s cheek. “And you better not be one minute late for the school year, we can’t have this affect your scholarship.”

Heyward looked up at the four kids approaching. “JJ, I hope the next time we see each other it’s in much better times. Shoupe said he would see about getting our applications to officially foster fast-tracked.”

JJ nodded painfully. His strength was clearly giving out, and he was only staying upright because he was wedged between John B. and Kie. “Thanks for everything, Mr and Mrs. H.” he said thickly. “And can you thank Shoupe for me?”

Heyward nodded shortly. 

“Mrs. Heyward?” Kie asked quietly. “Can you tell my mom that I’m sorry and I’m safe and I’ll be back soon, but I just had something really, really important to take care of?”

“Of course, sweetie,” Mrs. Heyward said. She turned to Sarah and John B. “And do you two want us to pass anything along to your folks?”

“Can you just tell my sister that I love her?” Sarah said, her voice small and raggedy. 

John B. just stared at the ground and shook his head. “All my family is right here,” he said simply. 

Mrs. Heyward’s eyes were bright in the moonlight as she hugged Pope again. “Take care of them all,” she whispered.

“We all take care of each other, mom,” Pope said. And Kie had never heard truer words in her life.

They were well on their way to sea by the time the cops showed up, the Heywards exclaiming in a convincing show of anger that they didn’t know where those damn kids had got to this time. They were nearing the Bahamas, their first port of call, when Shoupe showed up for his 7 am shift and heard the news that the JJ Maybank kid had run off. 

“That’s too bad,” he said mildly. “Coffee, Thomas?”

And it was a few days after that when Kie watched breathlessly as they got nearer to the strip of white sand and glittering resorts, the perfectly clear water turning the same shade of JJ’s eyes as it washed into shore.

“We made it, JJ,” she whispered. “Welcome to the Yucatan.”

And although the past and the future were equally shrouded in fear and pain, when JJ’s chapped lips met hers and his bandaged hand twisted in her hair, the only thought in her mind was how lucky she was. 

“Get a room,” Pope yelled. “If I have to fifth-wheel during my entire Mexico trip, I’m gonna be seriously pissed.”

“That ship has sailed, Popito. Literally. And you were on it,” John B. said.

“Technically this is not a ship…” 

Kie tuned out the bickering and turned back to JJ. 

“You ready?”

He gave her a grin, and stared out at the shore. 

“With the Pogues right here? I’m ready for anything.”

“Hell yeah,” she said. John B. swung the boat around to Sarah’s shouted directions as the sea wind whipped her hair, and looking out on the unfamiliar coastline she knew it was true. 

Storm or shine, Yucatan or OBX, lucky breaks or broken systems, they were always the Pogues. Rough and ready, sun-kissed and dirty, fighting and playing and drinking and laughing and maybe even some macking. 

No matter how the future panned out, they would meet it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek! 
> 
> Okay so my goal was to write a fic from start to finish during my 14-day quarantine, and it was a marathon and I need sleep, but I'm actually really proud of the end result. 
> 
> The way I see it this is the end of Season 1, and I haven't decided whether to renew the series lol. I'm considering it, but also might start up some one-shots? Or start a new, slightly less heterosexual fic? IDK! Drop a comment and tell me what to do, I'm so bad at being decisive.
> 
> At any rate, I'm gonna take little bit of time to step away and ya know, unpack my belongings and and also live life. But JJ and the OBX crew will never be far from my heart and I'll be back :)
> 
> Thanks to all of the kind support you showed during these past few weeks of crazed writing, it's been so amazing!


End file.
